Mercenary Man
by metallover
Summary: A one-shot about the Hawke siblings and their time as members of the Red Iron Mercenary group. When the cash starts to dry up again Hawke is forced to take a job hunting smugglers, no matter how distasteful he finds it.


**Author's Note**

**(DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters, places or names in this story; they remain property of BioWare and EA. This is a work of fanfiction and love: please don't sue me)**

**I'm bored again; time for another one-shot/drabble story in another game universe! I freaking loved Dragon Age, and Dragon Age 2 was even better (I get so excited about DA3 sometimes I almost wet myself), so I've been meaning to write a story for the series for a while now. This short story follows a male Hawke and his lovely little sister Bethany during their time as mercenaries before the main storyline of DA2. Hawke's a warrior, two-handed weapons, and a snarky bastard. Gotta love it. Yes, this story is inspired by the Firewind song that shares the same name; **_**Mercenary Man**_**. Firewind, please don't you sue me either. I love you guys and I swear I've never pirated your music.**

**This story might become something more a little later down the line if I get good feedback or I feel like it. Dunno yet. I have enough on my plate, writing wise, to begin with. **

**Read, review and enjoy!**

* * *

**Dragon Age 2 - Mercenary Man**

* * *

Hawke sat, swirling the watery swill that passed for ale in Kirkwall's Lowtown as he waited for his boss. This particular gem of a tavern, the Hanged Man, was on a whole new level of dismal and dirty than he was accustomed to, but apparently it was quite popular; even during the day the bar was crowded and the tables were full. A few times he'd had to glare down drunken patrons looking to poach the table from him and his sister.

"I wish Meeran would hurry up already," Hawke's sister Bethany grumbled from across the table, brushing a lock of dark hair out of her face. "This rat-infested hell-hole is one of the worst yet."

Hawke snickered, scratching absently at the lazy beard he sported along his jaw and chin. "Please, sister, don't be so light on your praise; this lovely hell-hole is easily the worst one yet."

"How you can maintain such a glib outlook," she muttered, shaking her head and leaning an elbow on the table.

They had been sitting and waiting for the leader of the mercenary group they were 'indentured' to, the Red Iron Mercenaries, for at least an hour now. Hawke knew that he was habitually late and couldn't keep an appointment to save his life, but this was starting to get out of hand. Worst of all, he couldn't even afford another mug of ale to make the tavern a little more bearable, so he was stuck nursing the one he had.

Roaring laughter sprung up from a table in the opposite corner, a blonde, beardless dwarf holding the crowd enraptured with whatever story he was currently telling, the table overflowing with empty mugs despite how early it still was.

Hawke resisted the urge to simply melt into the back of the group and join in on listening; he had a job to do after all, but it was tempting none the less.

"I shit you not, I was there!" the dwarf said loudly, much to the approval of the crowd.

"Where the hell is Meeran?" Hawke sighed, opting to finish his ale, piss-poor as it was, in one swig rather than continue to torture himself by sipping it.

If only the Hawke family didn't need the money so badly…

But that was the drawback of being a refugee; they were broke, unwanted, and had to scrape by a living at the bottom of the barrel. After six months one would assume they would be used to such hardships, but Hawke still hated it.

One of the serving girls stomped over, setting two fresh mugs of ale down on the table.

"We didn't order these," Hawke said instantly, fear of having his legs broken or, worse, his sword taken as payment instantly entering his mind; his legs would heal, but there was no way in hell he'd be able to afford a new sword.

The server huffed, casting a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the crowd around the dwarf.

"Courtesy of the loud one," she said shortly, taking their empty mugs and hurrying back to the relative safety behind the bar.

Hawke looked up at the other table again as more laughter exploded from the crowd, his eyes meeting those of the grinning dwarf as he raised his mug to the young man before going back to his story when the crowd quieted. Hawke shrugged, silently echoing the dwarf's toast as Bethany began to drink the new ale in front of her. It was a rare treat, getting two ales in one sitting. Hawke would have to learn the dwarf's name later and thank him properly.

Meeran chose that point to make his entrance, sliding into the seat next to Bethany, much closer than either Hawke sibling was comfortable with.

"Hello there, children," Meeran said in his slimiest tone. "Hope you weren't waiting too long."

"Oh not at all," Hawke drolled. "Just basking in the reek of piss and beer. I was starting to feel really comfortable here, too."

Meeran snickered, leaning across the table.

"That's why I like you, kid," the old mercenary said. "You got a sense of humour."

"Our job?" Bethany snapped, slapping at something under the table, probably one of Meeran's wandering hands.

The mercenary snickered again, tossing some papers onto the table before rising. "Everything's in there. You know how to contact me when the job's done."

"Right, look for the largest concentration of guards and try to beat them to you," Hawke said absently, already looking through the papers while Bethany did the same over his shoulder. "What? You're not going to stay for a drink?"

Meeran burst out laughing as he walked back towards the doors. "I'd love to kid, but your sister ain't exactly fond'a me. Next time."

"I miss Carver," Bethany ground out under her breath, glaring daggers at the mercenary the entire time he was exiting.

"Why?" Hawke asked without looking up from the job details. "Because he had startling anger management problems and would have killed our employer months ago, landing us in the Gallows for the rest of our days? Yeah, I miss him, too."

"Oh shut up and tell me what job we're doing, already."

* * *

"Well look on the bright side," Hawke said cheerfully as he walked ahead of Bethany in the pelting rain. "At least today couldn't possibly get any worse."

"You say that all the time," his sister half-shouted to be heard over the downpour. "And every time things manage to get worse! Stop saying that already!"

Hawke laughed as he pulled his hood lower over his face.

The job Meeran had given the Hawke siblings was simple; find some smugglers on the Wounded Coast and stop them from smuggling whatever it was they were smuggling into the city. They were to bring the amulet that the leader wore back to him as proof. Easy coin, even for the two of them.

Hawke had considered asking their acquaintance Aveline to assist them, but she was trying so hard to go legit by joining the City Guard that he didn't want to drag her back down to their level. The smuggling group was small, only six people; he and Bethany could take them, no problem. At least that's what he kept telling himself. Lately the universe had a way of laughing in his face while his plans fell down around him in a most spectacular fashion.

Hawke was no slouch with a sword, and Bethany was a rather talented apostate mage; together they should easily be able to deal with the smugglers.

A loud bark followed by a low whine from the large mabari hound at Hawke's side reminded him that the two siblings weren't, in fact, alone. The dog, easily as tall as Hawke's waist and weighing about as much as he did, armour and all, trotted along happily next to his master, simply happy to be out of the cramped house he was forced to share with the four humans that called it home.

"What's wrong, boy?" Hawke asked, reaching down and rubbing behind the hound's ears.

Dog growled, barking again a few more times before falling silent. They must have been getting close. As a precaution Hawke drew the long, two handed sword from over his shoulder and Bethany took a firmer grip on her staff, a grim set to her features. Neither of them enjoyed being mercenaries, but it beat starving.

They came upon their targets, five men and an elf unloading a small ship near one of the ancient sewer entrances to Kirkwall; Hawke recognized the elf as Athenril, one of the two prospective 'employers' that his uncle Gamlen had tried to set him up with when they had arrived by the two distinctive daggers strapped to her shoulders.

"Come on, hurry up!" the elf shouted at the men unloading the boat, warily looking around the small cove.

She hadn't spotted them yet, which was a very good thing. Hawke considered simply walking away at that point; Athenril's smuggling group was known through the Kirkwall underworld as being incredibly skilled fighters for such a small group. Hawke seriously doubted they could take them alone. But, of course, not doing so meant starving to death, so Hawke bit into the end of his thumb, smearing a line of blood across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose like his father had taught him to before rising from behind the rock he was using for cover.

"Standard plan," he whispered to Bethany. "I'll get their attention, you take them out."

His sister nodded, tightening her grip on her staff. At least the rain had begun to let up a little, so he could take the stupid hood off…

With a quiet whistle Hawke called the hound to his side, the dog striding out fearlessly with his master.

"Athenril!" Hawke called out jovially, spreading his arms wide. "What a pleasant surprise it is to see you out here so late at night! What a small, small world we live in, eh?"

The smugglers all stopped and froze in place, a few jaws hanging open as they stared at him.

"Why so cold?" Hawke snickered as he continued to saunter across the beach. "I thought we were friends!"

Athenril recovered fast, placing herself between him and the boat where the smugglers began unloading again at a fevered pace, drawing her daggers over her shoulders.

"What do you want, Hawke?" she asked icily. "You had your chance to work for me and you threw it away by going to that sleaze Meeran. So what do you want?"

Hawke shrugged, feeling the hound at his side tense in anticipation.

"Meeran paid better, and I couldn't afford to be picky," he said with forced cheer. "But I have a proposition for you; give me your amulet and lay low in Kirkwall for a while, and I won't kill you."

The smugglers all froze again, watching to see how the standoff played out. After a moment Athenril burst into laughter, doubling over as her shoulders heaved.

"And if I say no?" she asked between gasping laughs.

Hawke shrugged. "I did try to be nice about this. Barkspawn, fetch."

The hound let out an almost deafening bark as he leapt forward onto the unsuspecting elf, knocking her to the ground as Hawke stepped around them towards the other smugglers, drowning out the elf's pained shrieks as the hound clamped onto her neck.

"Anyone else want to fight? I'm honestly not really in the mood…" he sighed theatrically as the smugglers leapt to their leader's aid.

The smugglers all snarled at him as he raised his sword, rolling his eyes and adopting a defensive stance like his father had taught him to. Hawke knocked the first two aside with a wide sweep of his large sword, using the momentum and turning the sweep into a spin, swinging his sword out laterally beside him and managing to cut one of the smugglers almost in half. The remaining four dodged back, one sustaining a deep cut to his chest, but still holding a wicked looking curved scimitar out at Hawke one-handed. The mercenary arrested his spin, resting his sword on his shoulder-guard as he switched to a more offensive stance, charging forward and making to bring it down on the closest smuggler. The other man fell for Hawke's feint, bringing his sword up as Hawke, rather than swing his own blade, rammed down hard on the bridge of the smuggler's nose with his sword's pommel, shattering bone and making a mess out of the other man's face, and the smuggler crumpled.

Blasts of fire forced the other three men back, the wounded one moving too slowly and being caught by one of the blasts, his clothes catching light. Starting to panic the smuggler dropped his weapon and began to flail about as Bethany's magical fire licked at his flesh. Her other blasts went a little astray, though, and lit the small boat that the smugglers had been unloading on fire, too. Hawke used the momentary distraction to stab forwards with his sword, running one of the smugglers through the chest. The last one turned tail to run, but the mabari was on him instantly, coated in gore with one of Athenril's dagger's sticking out of his massive slab-like shoulder. The smuggler didn't stand a chance, going down with Barkspawn's jaws around his throat.

"Yeesh," Hawke groaned, watching the huge dog worrying at the smuggler's throat as he lazily stabbed downward to the smuggler he had dropped with his earlier pommel strike, finishing off the man.

There was a loud crack, and the last smuggler lay still.

"Well, that went well," Bethany commented as she climbed down from her vantage point.

"Barkspawn, didn't I say fetch?" Hawke said in a chiding tone, sheathing his sword back in its position over his shoulder; he'd clean it later, it was a cheap piece of crap anyway.

The mabari's ears flattened as he let out an apologetic whimper, quickly shuffling back to Athenril's corpse and taking the amulet gently from around her ruined neck in his massive jaws and obediently delivering it to his master.

"If you're just about done playing with your bloody dog," Bethany said, stepping past where Hawke was scratching behind his hound's ears now that he'd followed his master's orders, "I'd like to know what we're going to do about all of that."

Hawke followed the direction of his sister's pointing finger as she leaned against her staff, gaze settling on the six crates that had already been unloaded.

"Please be money, please be money, please be money," Hawke muttered hopefully as they crossed the small cove to the crates, the boat and whatever other cargo had been on it burning to ashes behind them.

Hawke kicked the lid off the first crate in what he hoped was a heroic and masculine fashion, before leaning over it with his sister and his dog to inspect the contents.

"This is…" Bethany said with a gasp.

"Not money," Hawke moaned with exaggerated sadness.

Barkspawn let out a cheerful bark, nuzzling Hawke's hand, oblivious to the fact that his master was only acting.

* * *

"Are you sure about this?" Bethany asked as her brother set the last crate down, gasping and wheezing from his exertions. "I mean, we could make a lot of money off of this."

"Oh?" Hawke responded, still out of breath. "I had no idea you had the criminal contacts to sell smuggled medical supplies on the black market. By all means, let me cart these up Maker-only-knows how many staircases it is to our dear Uncle's home."

"Okay, while you have a point your sarcasm is beginning to become a serious personality fault, Hawke," Bethany said, crossing her arms and glaring at her brother.

They had snuck the crates of medicine by the various gangs on Dark Town, the old slave-quarters turned slums of Kirkwall, to stack them outside one of the clinics that aided the poorest and most downtrodden of the city, often on credit that the staff knew they would never see paid. An anonymous donation seemed like the most logical thing to do, especially if the Hawke family wound up down here one day.

"We got what we need," Hawke said, holding the blood-stained amulet up while still trying to catch his breath by leaning over the crates. "I'd rather not tempt fate while we're still in such a precarious position. And I wish you'd call me by my first name for a change. You're 'Hawke' too, you know."

Bethany's response was to click her tongue and roll her eyes; he'd spent most of his teenage years convincing everyone to call him by his last name, and now that he was an adult he was trying to shake the nickname.

"Okay," he said, stretching his back and rolling out his neck. "You remember when we used to play 'knock and dash' on the neighbours as kids?"

"Yes," Bethany said, not knowing where her brother was going with his current train of thought.

Hawke grinned as he slammed his fist on the wooden door of the clinic three times, the sound echoing around them, amplified by the thick stone walls.

"Run!" he laughed, taking off like a shot, Barkspawn yelping happily as he followed his master.

Bethany sighed, taking off after her brother after only a moment's hesitation. He was an idiot; a kind man, but a childish fool all the same.

But that was her brother; whether she liked it or not, he was one of the only family she had left.

"Come on, slowpoke!" he called from ahead of her, waving his arm in the air. "Last one back has to bathe Barkspawn!"

The dog in question let out an excited bark, wagging his stump of a tail and leaping around Hawke like a puppy.

"I am not washing your bloody dog for you again!" Bethany shouted, putting on an extra burst of speed.

Only six more months; six more months of this hell, and then their lives could finally begin.


End file.
